


forever is the sweetest con

by talesofstories



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Light-Hearted, Romance, Season/Series 06, Song fic, features compressing of AtS events to make this story work, in that taylor swift's cowboy like me inspired this, roughly, sweet and soft and a little snarky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:13:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28121445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talesofstories/pseuds/talesofstories
Summary: Post-resurrection, Buffy's found herself in a gig that pays the bills: showing up to Wolfram and Hart events as Angel's arm candy and Slayer-y intimidation. It's glamorous if not enjoyable; she just never thought she'd meet someone at one of these events.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30





	forever is the sweetest con

**Author's Note:**

> A lovely commenter, indraaas, said they were listening to Taylor Swift's new album while reading one of my fics and feeling even more feelings because of it. Which caused me to think of Spuffy and folklore and evermore songs. Which caused this to happen. I hope you enjoy this, featuring lines from "cowboy like me."
> 
> Some notes: I've gleefully taken a fancy, evil Wolfram and Hart backdrop from Angel without bothering to make the timelines work out. Also, this isn't really a canon 6 Buffy. More canon-ish. Hence the alternate universe tag, even though we are still fully in this shrimp-filled universe.

_perched in the dark, telling all the rich folks anything they wanna hear  
_

Buffy looked down from the balcony at the ballroom littered with lawyers, humans, demons, and Angel, who strode through the middle of all that like the big cheese he had set himself up as, and she allowed the perfectly pleasant expression that she had gotten so good at affecting mask the annoyance she felt at the spectacle.

When Buffy had gone to seen Angel shortly after she had been pulled back into life by her friends, she had mentioned to her ex the overwhelming bills that faced her now that she was alive again. Angel, for once, had offered something useful: he was now working for a law firm, Wolfram and Hart, and he would pay Buffy to show up on his arm to the events they had every couple of months. He thought it would make an impression for the Slayer to appear with him. Buffy had snapped at the offer when she was drowning under a pile of worries and apathy and anger and depression and only had two brain cells to rub together. And when she had more than two brain cells to rub together, a waitressing job, and roommates who actually paid rent, she stuck with the appearances. It had allowed her to reconnect with Wesley—useful, since her own Watcher was MIA in England—and keep an eye on her ex, who was not on top of things the way he and the rest of his team—who were all really excellent and who she might try to poach, especially Lorne—thought he was.

Also, while she couldn’t kill any demons while on Wolfram and Hart’s premises, Buffy could discretely follow any demons that especially raised her hackles off Wolfram and Hart’s property and get out some of her anger on something besides the fledges Sunnydale was rife with.

So yeah, despite how much she hated taking the bus to LA—despite how much he was paying to have her there, Angel was too cheap to arrange more comfortable transportation to get Buffy to these events—dolling herself up for her ex and a roomful of evil, and then enduring small talk and grabby hands for an evening, Buffy was keeping this gig. But every time she was here, Buffy had to remind herself of how good the money was and the look on the snooty bank teller’s face when she dropped off a large check from a law office rather than her usual collection of ones, fives, and tens from waitressing. Especially when, as he did now, Angel found her and gave her a look demanding she get back to fluttering around him or small talking with Wolfram and Hart’s clients.

Buffy sighed as she set down her champagne glass before descending the stairs back to the ballroom. By the time she was back around people, her perky Buffy smile was fixed back in place, and she allowed herself to get lost in the sea of bodies, chatting and laughing and being drawn out on the dance floor so her toes could get squashed in the name of public relations.

“Mind if I cut in?” rumbled a voice.

Buffy, eager to get away from her current dancing partner and his apparent desire to flatten her feet, allowed her smile to brighten a few notches as she looked toward the man who had spoken. Only to be arrested by ocean blue eyes. And then, somehow, she was in the man’s arm and being twirled around—the dancing at these events wasn’t like what she did at the Bronze but also not Gene Kelly and Ginger Rogers; maybe more Cary Grant? Did he ever dance in any movies? Buffy knew her mom would have known and stopped that train of thought quickly. It was only after she had decided her dance partner was more Peter O’Toole than Cary Grant that she realized he was a vampire. Which was odd, since usually Angel was the only vampire at these events.

“I don’t mean to be impertinent, pet, but what the devil is the Slayer doing hobnobbing with this cesspool of evil?”

Despite herself, Buffy smiled at the vampire and tried not to be aware of how handsome the rest of his face was in addition to his eyes. Never mind how firm the arms under her hands were. Nope, all those thoughts were definitely not happening tonight. “Are you including yourself in that?”

The vamp smoldered at her at that, something that turned those eyes from ocean to flame and made Buffy’s heart race in ways she didn’t think it ever had before. “’Course. They don’t come much badder than me, baby.”

“Really?” Buffy asked as she plucked the fabric of his shirt between two fingers and gently rubbed it. “I didn’t realize bad came with such a fine fiber count. Is this a silk weave?”

The smolder disappeared in a bark of a laugh. “Evil means I don’t have to pay for things. Would be a waste of time, stealing a polyester knockoff. Besides, don’t think they’d allow a polyester knockoff in here with all these rich wankers.”

Buffy glanced around the room and had to concur with the vampire’s assessment. Except for the caterers, everything was expensive fabrics and dripping jewels. She thought she could enjoy it if it weren’t for the undeniable aura of deep, grasping, entrenched evil, the kind she felt around Lothos and the Master. In comparison, the evil of the vamp holding her right now felt forthright. He would probably try to kill her in a fight once they got out of here, but he wouldn’t head up companies that worked with banks who engaged in predatory lending that would put little old ladies out of their homes then bulldoze those homes to build golf courses that would cater to their rich and evil clientele.

Unlike other vampires she could name offhand right now.

But then she realized . . . “You weren’t invited to this, were you?”

“Evil, remember, pet?”

“Great. I’m playing nice with someone I don’t even have to play nice with because he snuck in.”

“No worries, I was here for your grand entrance. You made _quite_ the impression.” The vampire looked serious all of a sudden, and Buffy was practically getting whiplash from how quickly his facial expressions could change. “You’re not with Peaches are you?”

“Who?”

“Angelus. You walked in with him.”

“I’m his date for the evening. And every evening he has one of these events. But no, I’m not with him.”

“Good,” he looked relived, and Buffy tensed in anticipation of him trying to put the moves on her. He wouldn’t be the first guy she’d shot down at one of these events, but he’d be the best looking one by a mile. “He chews up and spits out girls like you.”

It was so unexpected, both in comparison to what she was expecting and in light of the concern coming from a self-declared evil stranger for her, that the truth popped out without conscious thought: “Oh, he already did that. Then I aged out of his preferred dating range.”

Those eyes sharpened again with what Buffy could now tell was concern even as the arm at her back pulled her a little closer. “And yet you’re here?”

Buffy shrugged. “Angel pays me to come to these events and be a Slayer-y presence. I have a younger sister who grows like a weed and needs to be kept in new jeans. Seeing an ex every once in a while is a small price to pay to keep up with her growth spurts, even if it is more _Pretty Woman_ minus Richard Gere than I would like.”

Those eyes stared into her, and she knew there were a thousand questions behind them. Questions that, frankly, she didn’t really feel like answering. Not when he was the first dance partner she had ever had who could keep up with her. Not when it had been a ton of work just to reach the realization she had been forced to reach post-resurrection about the people in her life and her history with Angel, never mind explaining all those realizations.

Besides, he was the one who had crashed the party. He didn’t get to ask all the questions.

“Now that we know why I’m here, why are you? Did you just need an excuse to wear that shirt?”

“Oi! Whose to say I don’t dress like this all the time?”

Buffy looked her dance partner up and down. His clothes were gorgeous and fit him perfectly, emphasizing his lean body. And he moved smoothly in them, but there was still something . . . The bleached blonde hair. The hand holding hers, with skull rings and chipped black fingernail polish. Every fashion-loving sense Buffy had screamed that he was comfortable in these clothes, but they weren’t his usual look.

Two could play a flirting game.

“Me.” Buffy looked up at him through her lashes. “You look good, but this isn’t your usual look anymore than this—” she unclasped their hands to twirl quickly in his arm, the light caressing her deep emerald dress as it flared gently around her legs—“is mine.”

There was a better than average chance she would be slaying her dance partner later that evening, but it was still gratifying the way his eyes traced up from her hips back to her eyes when she was facing him again. She had been dead and then she had been depressed, and there hadn’t been room in Buffy’s life to flirt with a guy and appreciate him appreciating how great she looked. And the way his pupils dilated a bit as he looked at her? The way he licked his lip just a little while working on his response? She hadn’t felt gorgeous like this since before she died, maybe not ever. She was no innocent teenager being led around by an older man or a college co-ed eager to please the guy with the good shoulders who was interested in her. Not anymore. She was a woman who knew she looked good and had no skin in whatever game was happening between the two of them.

Heck, she didn’t even know the guy’s _name_.

Did that make this whole experience more or less _Pretty Woman_?

“You caught me, love. These aren’t my normal togs, although, with how that dress looks on you, you should consider always wearin’ it. Unless, of course, you’d be interested in leaving it on my floor?”

His eyes turned to pure heat at that, and parts of Buffy that had been quiet due to her overall emotional exhaustion since long before Riley had left lit up.

Which was absolutely not a thing she was going to deal with while at Angel’s evil work event.

But that didn’t mean she was done playing.

Buffy ran her fingers through the guy’s hair and leaned in close. “But if I were to take off this dress, then you’d know exactly where I’m hiding my weapons and how many I have on me. Doesn’t that take all the danger out of dancing with the Slayer?”

Her partner laughed at that, something loud and explosive and delighted, and just like that the thrumming tension between them dissipated even if they were now dancing closer than before to allow Buffy’s fingers to play with the hair at the back of his neck. She’d move her hand if he said anything, but she really hoped he didn’t say anything.

“I bet it’s always dangerous dancing with you, pet.” His head tilted a bit to the side. “Not to be indelicate, but you seem a bit old to be a Slayer, love. Were you called late, or have you beat the odds?”

“The last one. Ish. I was called six years ago. But I’ve also died twice.”

“You’ve died? Twice?”

Buffy shrugged. “I got better.”

That earned her another laugh. “Does that make you the Sunnydale Slayer then?”

Buffy hummed in acknowledgment, eager to move past talk of her deaths.

“Heard of you. Rumor is you’re very good, a force to be reckoned with.”

“You know what they say about rumors.”

“So you didn’t kill the Master and a hell god in addition to all the other nasties a Hellmouth attracts?”

“No, the rumors are correct in this case. You must hang around a very truthful water cooler.”

His gaze on her became both thoughtful and assessing. “I almost went out your way a few years back. My sire got herself in a bit of trouble, and I thought the Hellmouth would do her some good.”

“What happened?”

The gaze slid off her and over her shoulder, and it felt like a light had been turned off, a spotlight she hadn’t even realized she had been basking in until it was gone. “She dusted before I could get her across the pond to America. Spent the next few years drinking anything I could get my hands on and raising all the hell I could.”

Professor Walsh would have had some strong words to say about poor coping mechanisms in the face of grief. But Professor Walsh had turned out to be a bitch with a god complex, and Buffy wished that after her mom had died she had been able to drown her sorrows without a care for the world rather than work night and day to keep it spinning and everyone in it safe. “I get that,” she murmured. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for your loss.”

His eyes were back on her now, cloudy yet still warm, and Buffy had to figure out what it was about this vampire that made her able to see so much in his face. “Thanks, pet. It means a lot.”

They danced quietly for a few minutes before he spoke up again. “Now that I’ve made my way out of the bottle, I thought I’d pay a visit to my grandsire. See what he’s up to. Maybe wreck a few of his plans for old times’ sake.”

“Your grandsire?” Memories niggled at the back of her mind, connecting the fact that he was one of two vampires at this party with something about the squash of Europe . . .

“Way I figure it, if he hadn’t broke Drusilla, my sire, before he turned her, making her mad as a box of frogs, she wouldn’t have gone out in Prague, snacking on the locals all willy-nilly until a mob formed to hunt her down. Don’t really want to dust the berk, not anymore; that’s too easy on him. But Angelus loves his plans. Practically Richard the bloody Third that one, what with his plots. Mess some of those up, pummel him right good, break some bones and bruise the ego? Maybe a spot of torture just to see how he likes bein’ the one ripped open? Could be a right good time.”

Part of Buffy wanted to shudder away from the things he was saying, from the cold fury behind the words directed at someone she once loved. But . . . she had once turned a blind eye to the torture the Initiative had inflicted on demons for no other reason than that they wanted to. She herself had beat up Willy the Snitch and other potential informants plenty of times in the name of getting information. She had seen what Angelus in full torture mode could do to someone and was just glad her sister hadn’t existed yet for him to ensnare in his reign of terror.

She had also once put her fellow Slayer in a coma in an effort to keep Angel safe, back when she still loved him. She had once jumped into a portal, knowing that it would kill her but her sacrifice would save her sister. Buffy knew what it was like to be willing to do anything for the person you loved, even if that wealth of emotion hadn’t fully come back with her yet out of the grave.

Besides, violence between two vampires was so not her purview. She had a world full of squishy, soft, breakable humans to keep alive. Angel could take care of himself. “You might want to change shirts before going on this torture spree. Trust me; there are some fabrics that are never the same once they get blood on them. That silk-blend you’re wearing is one of them.”

“Yeah? You get blood on your togs a lot?”

Buffy gave him a look at that, but apparently “no shit, Sherlock,” wasn’t an expression her face conveyed well as he didn’t respond to it besides raising an eyebrow. “Blood, slime, mucus, gore, you name it, I’ve had it on me. The Slayer lifestyle trashes a wardrobe before it even has time to go out of fashion.”

He twirled her out and back to him: “That’s why I keep it simple. Basic black jeans and tee. Maybe a shirt over the tee with a color to contrast. That way you’re always prepared.”

“Who says I’m not always prepared? Sometimes my outfit just bites the dust along with the demon.”

“When you say ‘bites the dust,’ pet, do you mean figuratively or like vamp? Because if it’s the latter . . .” He waggled his eyebrows at her, and Buffy couldn’t help but laugh. This guy was ridiculous, and she was having fun. She hadn’t been fun Buffy since, like, her freshman year of college, and while Dawn had been helping her to get better at being fun again, it had never felt this natural and easy.

So, of course, they were interrupted before she could tell the vampire holding her something flirty and dangerous and fun back, like he should come by Sunnydale some time to find out.

A meaty hand fell heavily on her shoulder, and Buffy knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who it belonged to. Really, she was just surprised he hadn’t come by earlier. She had danced three dances now with the same, apparently uninvited guest when she could have been mingling with others and being Slayer-y in their direction.

Oh well. If he asked why he wasn’t doing her job, she’d just claim she knew her dance partner wasn’t on the guest list and she was trying to get the scoop on him. It was mostly true.

Luckily, before Angel could get to the “I’m so disappointed in you; why are you not fulfilling you’re my expectations for you?” portion of this interaction—it once would have cowed her into obedience but Buffy had been through a lot since then, and now it was just annoying—Buffy’s dance partner’s face split into a wide grin. “Grandpops! Fancy seein’ you here all dolled up like that.”

“Spike,” Angel growled, and Buffy would never have guessed in a thousand years that her dance partner with the perfect cheekbones and mesmerizing eyes had _that_ for a name. Although, it kind of fit his dangerous vibe not even nice clothes could mute. “What are you doing here?”

“Dancin’ with the loveliest bird on the floor. Or I was, ’til you interrupted. Care to bugger off, save this little family reunion for later?”

“No, I really think we should talk now.” With that, Angel’s hand left her shoulder as he moved to put a tighter version of his grip on Spike’s shoulder. “Besides, she should be mingling with the other guests, not wasting her time with you.”

Buffy rolled her eyes at his commanding tone, but Angel wasn’t wrong. She was getting paid to mingle, or at least to walk through the crowds, not spend all her time dancing with one vampire. “I’ll leave you two to the reunion,” she said as she disentangled herself from Spike’s comfortable grip.

Spike apparently wasn’t one to go quietly. “My floor and I will see you and that dress later, right?” he shouted after her, eliciting a growl from her ex.

“In your dreams, Spikey!” Buffy called even as she turned her back to the vampires and prepared herself for a much duller evening from here on out.

She was, unfortunately, correct in her predictions.

Buffy didn’t see Spike for the rest of the evening, even though Angel eventually came back to the party. When the night was finally done, she slipped away to change back into her own clothes. Once dressed, she found Lorne and exchanged the dress for her check—once Angel realized she wasn’t going to fawn over him anymore, it suddenly had become much more practical for Lorne to take care of her payment as well as her dress at the end of the night. With her check in her jacket pocket and three slays accrued in the walk from Wolfram and Hart to the bus station, Buffy made it back on the bus to Sunnydale.

* * *

_you're a bandit like me  
_

A week after her most recent foray into the glitzy bowels of Wolfram and Hart, Buffy was out on date night. Specifically, date night for the high school idiots of Sunnydale, who hadn’t gotten the memo that going parking on Lover’s Lane was more dangerous in Sunnydale than it was romantic and kind of naughty. But if Buffy and romance were going to remain unmixy, she was determined that no seventeen year olds with a driver’s license and their parents’ car would suffer a similar romance-free fate.

Or at least the idiots going parking before 11:30. After that, the idiots of Sunnydale were on their own, as she had to get home for movie night with Dawn. For reasons she absolutely would not be explaining to anyone and especially not to herself, Peter O’Toole’s blue-eyed charm was calling to her, so this week’s movie was _How to Steal a Million_.

Buffy had finished her sweep around some cemeteries and the usual parking locations and was in the alley behind the Bronze to peak in there before heading home when she felt the tell-tale tingles of a vampire. Of course, since Buffy’s life was never easy, they were stronger than usual, meaning an older vampire had come out to play.

Goody. Just what she needed when Dawn and Peter were waiting for her at home.

“Okay, buddy, let’s make this quick,” she announced to the empty alley. “I have a hot date with my sister waiting for me, and you do not want to make me make her wait. She gets cranky.”

“Now really, pet,” came a familiar voice from the shadows on her left. “Is that how you greet all the things that go bump in the night?”

Spike walked out in front of her. Black jeans, black shirt, and black coat only served to highlight the shock of his bleached hair. The shirt also highlighted his chest in ways the button-down hadn’t, but Buffy was resolutely not thinking about that.

“What are you doing here, Spike? Done torturing Angel already?”

He grinned at her. “Nah, just put the torture on pause. Found something more interesting to do right now. Peaches’ll wait.”

Buffy crossed her arms across her chest and chose not to consider how that action pushed her boobs forward, something Spike clearly noticed and appreciated based on the way his eyes lingered south of her chin. “Really? What could be more interesting than a good spot of torture? It can’t be stalking me, oh slayer of Slayers, could it?”

“Found out about that title, hunh?”

“I might not be great at research, but even I can trace immediate descendents of Angelus.” And hadn’t _that_ been an illuminating evening spent in the back of The Magic Box. Not just for the reminder of how shitty Angelus was—although, yeah, pretty darn shitty—but to see all that this vampire was capable of. Or, at least, all that the Watchers credited to him. Which, knowing them, could be both more and less than what he actually did.

For guys who prided themselves on their research abilities, they really didn’t do a good job of citing their sources. There was a lot of hearsay and rumor in those books. Her English 101 prof would have been horrified.

“You seem to know an awful lot about me, Slayer, but I don’t even have a name. Luckily, it’s not like there’s a ton of you chits around, but still. A bloke might think you didn’t want him to find you again.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes at the vampire, wondering what his angle was. “I’m Buffy. Buffy Summers,” she finally said. “Vampire Slayer. But you already knew that.” It’s not like he couldn’t go to Willy’s and get this information and more from any demon in the place.

“Well then, Buffy,” Spike drew out her name like a caress, and it took everything in her not to noticeably shiver, “wouldn’t say no to a fight with you, kitten, but not really feeling the fight going to the death right now, you know?”

“Which means . . . ?”

“I like a lady who is scamming ol’ Angelus at his own game. Don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like you. Especially not from a lady who can also dance like you. Let me buy you a drink.” He gestured to the Bronze, and Buffy took a step forward before stopping herself. She had already trusted one vampire, and while this vampire was obviously a very different man, she still wasn’t going to dive further in to casual friendship with this one. At least not right away.

“Who’s to say I’m scamming Angel?”

“Please, kitten, give a bloke some credit. He’s paying you to go to these events, yeah? Look all fancy on his arm? But you’re a smart chit—have to be to live so long as the Slayer. Bet your ears are always open while you’re there. You know what kind of evil’s brushing shoulders at these events, and if you can learn anything to stop that evil later . . .”

He trailed off, and Buffy debated her response. On the one hand, he had figured out exactly what she was doing, a feat Angel had yet to do and one she had to spell out multiple times to Xander using very small words when he freaked out about her associating with the Evil Dead again. The fact that he understood her better than at least two other men in her life said a lot. On the other hand, she still didn’t know this vampire, not really. He didn’t like Angelus, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t sell her out to him. Family was family, and vampire solidarity against the slayer was probably also a thing.

So instead of agreeing or trying to proclaim her innocence, she kicked that decision down the road for another day. “I wasn’t joking about having to get back to my sister. I don’t have time for a drink and to debate whether I’m scamming Angel.”

Spike looked at her with his head slightly tilted. It eerily looked like he was seeing into her soul. “You are, pet, but you’re right; can’t keep lil sis waiting. We’ll catch up another time. Town this small, I’m sure I’ll run into you again.”

“Town this small, someone will notice bodies piling up. Especially if that someone has an in with all the morgues and funeral homes around here.”

He squinted at her. “What are you sayin’, Slayer?”

Buffy shrugged, like it meant nothing to her even though it desperately did. “Just saying. If you plan to stay in town awhile, you should really consider where you’re getting your food. There’s a demon bar that offers human blood on tap, and the hospital has recently started a program offering expired human blood in an effort to keep the body count down.” Her expression went from nonchalant to Slayer-hard. “You’re too good a dancer to dust, but that doesn’t mean I won’t dust you if you’re snacking on the locals. Got it?”

Spike walked right in front of her and stuck out his hand. Buffy reached out to shake it. “Got it, Buffy Summers.” He pulled her hand up to his lips and gave the back of it a long, lingering kiss before disappearing into the night.

That night, watching Peter O’Toole pressed up against Audrey Hepburn in a museum utilities closet, Buffy couldn’t help but think that really, Peter’s eyes had nothing on the shade of blue Spike’s did. And there was no way his kisses had anything on Spike’s based upon what the vampire’s kiss on her hand did to her.

* * *

_but that was all before I locked it down_

The next time she went to an event at Wolfram and Hart, everything was as normal. Sure, one of Buffy’s dance partners ended up dead a weak later and the minor scorpion god he had wanted to raise was, tragically, never raised with his death, but that had nothing to do with Buffy. It was a whole week later! She was in Sunnydale the entire day dealing with a social services check in! Besides, what demon would be dumb enough to talk to the Slayer about his obsession with a minor god known for torturing humans after it had immobilized them with its venom?

The time after that, she was almost immediately pulled into someone’s arms after her dramatic entrance with Angel. Normally, that kind of abrupt handling of her person would result in someone getting something broken, best behavior or no. But this time, she had pressing questions she wanted answered.

“How did you even get in here after the last time?”

“I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve, kitten.” Spike’s eyes slowly moved over her, lingering especially at the low neckline of tonight’s scarlet dress. “You of all people should know that.” Then the jerk tucked his tongue behind his teeth in a way calculated to remind Buffy exactly what tricks he did have and how they made her scream.

She fought to keep her voice unaffected. “And what are you doing here?”

“Wot?” Spike’s face was all over-the-top innocence even as his eyes twinkled mischievously. “Can’t a bloke want to show his girl a good time? Least for one dance?”

“I don’t know. Dancing is a dangerous game.”

“It bloody well is when we do it, Slayer,” he growled and spun her toward a more secluded corner. “But what’s the point of all these superpowers and lookin’ as good as we do if we aren’t living dangerously?” With that, he pulled her into a bruising, passionate kiss, one that was over too soon. “Enjoy your scamming, love,” Spike murmured in her ear. “I’ll meet you at the car later.”

And then he disappeared to explore behind the locked doors of Wolfram and Hart while the party was in full swing to see what he could learn for her.

Buffy smiled as she touched his claim mark on her neck, which was currently hidden by the knot of hair under her left ear. She wouldn’t necessarily agree with Spike that what she was doing was a con—he had a big enough head already without her stroking his ego more than she already did—but whatever it was, it was good to have a partner in it.

* * *

_now you hang from my lips_

_like the Gardens of Babylon_

_with your boots beneath my bed_

_forever is the sweetest con_


End file.
